


Kissing Practice

by threeturn



Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi, OT5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:45:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeturn/pseuds/threeturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zayn starts fretting about his kissing technique, Liam comes up with a plan.  Niall, Louis, and Harry are happy to help.  Set in the early days of the X-Factor Live Tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Поцелуйная практика](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4929511) by [beresklet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beresklet/pseuds/beresklet)



It was just another dumb interview question, really, no need to go on thinking about it afterwards. The questions were always the same—Zayn was so used to having to say what he liked in a girl that he could do it in his sleep (and did, sometimes, when he was particularly tired). So when the guy asked what made a good kiss good, because Katey in Liverpool wanted to know, Zayn didn’t bat an eyelid, just waited for someone to try to be funny and Liam to try to be serious so that by the time it was his turn he wouldn’t have to say much at all. 

“Chocolate mints,” volunteered Niall.

“If you really care about her,” said Liam, with great conviction, so Louis pulled his ears and said in a German-sex-therapist-voice, “don’t listen to him, is all about ze technique.”   

Harry said, “If someone’s a good kisser it just sort of clicks,” whereupon Niall cracked up and the interviewer gamely laughed his awful matey laugh along with him and went on to the next question.

The rest of the interview was all celebrity crushes and musical influences and after Zayn mumbled something about Megan Fox he figured he’d done his bit and leaned sideways against Liam and waited for it to be over. 

He didn’t think about it again until the next night, when he went clubbing with the lads after the show and found a lovely girl who didn’t want to dance or ask him questions, just chatted away at him about the club and what drinks she liked. Zayn smiled at her and let her pull him in close and eventually realized she was tipping her face up to him, so he bent down and put his lips to hers. She softened against him right away and Zayn was just cooperatively opening his mouth when for no conceivable reason he remembered Harry saying “it just sort of clicks” and became hyper-aware of the flick of her tongue and her hand on his arm and wondered whether it was, actually, clicking. He felt confused, and jumped back. She opened her eyes and smiled.

“Hey,” she said. She really was cute. 

“Hey,” said Zayn, trying to figure out where the rest of the boys were and how many people were seeing him look silly. He narrowed his eyes a little and tried to look sophisticated. 

“That was nice,” she said, and pulled his head toward her again. She was really confident. He should show that he could keep up with her. No, that he could lead the way. He ducked down a little fast though, opened up too soon, and landed sort of on the side of her mouth. His teeth banged on her chin and then someone bumped into him from behind and he was falling against her. 

“Zayn!” shouted Liam. Zayn straightened up and saw Liam across the room making hand gestures towards the door. This was the moment in which he could either follow Liam or stay and kiss the girl some more. He held up a hand to Liam to wait, because he wasn’t sure. The girl was laughing.

“It’s ok,” she said, “Let’s just try again.” She was looking so sweetly into his eyes but her voice was sort of—reassuring? It made no sense. Why would she need to reassure _him_? He was in One Direction, and he was kind of a big deal, even if they’d only come in third and no one knew how their album would do. But it wasn’t the end of One Direction, he’d said so himself, and the X-Factor tour was brilliant, so there was no need to look at him as if he was—was a charity case, and maybe, ok, maybe not the greatest kisser in the world. 

He was nerving himself up to lean in again when Louis appeared next to him, slinging his arm around Zayn’s shoulders in a way that was probably meant to look chummy but actually meant, Zayn knew from experience, that he was having difficulty staying upright for sustained periods. According to Louis (in an ear-splittingly loud whisper), Zayn could stay behind and get off with beautiful girls in his own special mysterious way, but everyone else was leaving. Zayn felt a bolt of stupid panic at the idea of being left alone by the others and said, “No, I’ll come too.” He felt a twinge when he saw the girl’s face fall, though, so he said “I’m sorry, you’re really nice,” and rolled his eyes toward Louis in a way that he hoped conveyed that he had to take urgent care of his friend who was painfully, dangerously, pissed to the gills. Then he kissed her very quickly on the cheek and pretended Louis wasn’t elbowing him at all and turned to go, stumbling a little under Louis’ weight. 

In the car there was a very serious, important conversation about whether to go on to another club or go back to the hotel and rest. Liam was for resting. 

“You’re resting right now,” observed Niall, flapping his hand at Liam’s head in Zayn’s lap. Zayn brushed Liam’s hair back from his face. Liam looked up at him gratefully. He did look tired. 

“Not that he needs to,” said Louis. “Drinking ginger ale all night or whatever that shite was you had in your glass.”

Liam did not bother to dignify this with an answer. “We all need to, if we’re to be at our best for the show tomorrow.” 

“We all need to, oh my goodness, yes,” mimicked Louis. Harry bit him.

Louis bit him back, more purposefully. “I vote the hotel,” said Harry. 

“I vote one more club,” said Niall. “Zayn, you’re tie-breaker.”

“I’m not,” said Zayn. “Louis just changed his vote.”

Niall and Liam looked over at Louis, who was being sat on by Harry and didn’t have his mouth free. Zayn tried to figure out if Harry had _technique_ and then told himself it was time to stop thinking about that stupid interview already. 

Louis extricated one hand long enough to make a thumbs-up sign and Niall heaved a sigh and leaned forward to tell the driver. 

“Niall’s sulking,” said Harry, after letting Louis up, lips a bit redder and hair considerably mussed.  

“Am not,” said Niall, sulking.

“ _Zayn’s_ sulking,” said Louis. “We pulled him away from a lovely lady. He was romancing her with his romantic glare.” 

Niall wheezed the wheeze he called laughter. Zayn felt Liam shift his head a little, turn to look up at him. “It’s fine,” Zayn mumbled.  

“Sorry anyway,” said Liam.

“You’re an idiot, mate,” said Niall, “she was fit.”  

Harry nodded. “I’d’ve stayed.”

“Oh, would you,” said Louis, and pulled his hair. 

Zayn looked from one to the other. “What. Were you all _watching_ me?” His cheeks felt hot, which was silly, because he wasn’t a blusher. Niall was a blusher.  Zayn was smooth. He smoothly took out a fag and smoothly began to roll it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Course we were,” agreed Louis, not embarrassed in the slightest. “But then we weren’t sure you liked her, so we thought we’d give you a chance to leave.”

“You—” Zayn looked down at Liam for help, but Liam was only watching him quietly. “You’re _creepy_ , you lot. Of course I liked her.” 

Harry looked at him and said “oh,” and then went back to sucking on Louis’ neck. Zayn felt angry at him suddenly, how simple he apparently thought everything was, and pushed Liam’s head off his lap.

“Why would you think I didn’t like her?” He stared at them, but only Niall met his eyes. 

“You weren’t exactly—” he stopped. “ _You_ know.”

“I don’t,” said Zayn. 

“The kissing,” said Niall. “I mean, it wasn’t much of a—stop that, Liam, ow!”

“Normally the wild Liam grazes peacefully in his native habitat,” intoned Louis. “Only sometimes, in mating season, does he slap-fight with drunken Irishmen who infringe on his terrain. Ow—Liam!” 

And then it was all wrestling and miscellaneous tickling for Louis and Niall and Liam, but Zayn stayed back from the fray and let Harry pet his cheek until they were pulling into the hotel. 

He waited for Liam to finish talking to the driver about the pick-up time tomorrow while the others went ahead. It was always comfortable to be with Liam, and it seemed the safest choice right now, with the others all so worked up about…the girl, whatever. Anyway, Zayn strongly suspected Niall knew fuck-all about kissing he hadn’t picked up from watching Harry and Louis make their regular nuisance of themselves. 

Zayn frowned and shook his head. There was no reason to be angry with the boys, they were just having a laugh. He looked over at Liam, walking silently through the lobby beside him. They were going into the lift when he felt Liam’s hand on his shoulder. 

“All right?” Liam asked, and Zayn knew it was a real question, that he could answer and Liam would care about the answer. 

“It’s just—” Zayn stopped and ran his hand through his hair and then remembered the girl’s hand on the back of his head, how good it had felt for a moment before he’d made a mess of everything. “It’s just I think I’m not—well. I’m not sure, um, I’m not sure if I’m actually a good kisser.” He was going to add that he really liked that girl and wished he hadn’t messed it all up, but then felt Liam’s hand jerk away from him and decided not to say anything more. 

Liam was silent for a minute. “Oh,” he said at last. And then, hurriedly, “Well, I’m sure you’re fine, Zayn, I mean girls love you and, like, you know what you look like, and. Just. I can’t imagine you have to worry.” 

The lift pinged, and Zayn realized that he and Liam were just going to step out into the hall and walk to their rooms and the conversation would be over and there was no way he’d ever be able to bring it up again. So he grabbed Liam’s arm and stopped him. “No,” he said, “look. I was thinking about that interview.”

“What interview?” Liam looked genuinely bewildered as he tugged Zayn gently out of the lift. 

“The kissing. I mean the kissing question. I mean technique or whether things click or whatever, I just don’t know if I know what to do. I know girls like me, I’m not an idiot, but...” Zayn thought of the girl at the club, how she’d looked like she wanted to reassure him. Not jump into his arms or into his bed but reassure him, like he was a little kid or something. “I’m not sure I can make it good.”

Liam took him by both arms and looked him in the eye. “Zayn. That was just a dumb interview question. You can’t take that stuff seriously.”

Zayn slumped back against the wall and slapped his pockets for his packet of fags. He was having a hard time looking Liam in the eye. “Okay,” he mumbled, and tried to shrug like he completely didn’t care. And he didn’t! He was Zayn Malik. He was cool. 

But even as he stared at the pattern on the carpet, he could feel Liam’s eyes on him, could hear Liam’s breath as he blew out a sigh. 

“Okay,” said Liam. “Okay. No, this is not okay.” 

Zayn knew that voice. That was Liam’s I’m-in-charge voice. That was Liam’s call-of-duty voice. That was Liam making a plan. 

“Look at me,” said Liam. Zayn looked up reluctantly, waiting for Liam to say something horribly embarrassing. But Liam just took his face in his hand, more gently than Zayn could have imagined. “You are _not_ a bad kisser,” said Liam, which probably meant Zayn was so terrible a kisser his inadequacies could be seen from space. Still, Liam was kind of a good liar and for a second Zayn thought—it was a really stupid thought, obviously—never mind. Zayn stepped back, because for some reason he was standing really close to Liam, as if Zayn had swayed toward him or something.

Liam just nodded and said, “Okay, Zayn, you’re coming with me.” There wasn’t really anything to do when Liam started indulging his whole I’m-the-only-adult-in-a-50-mile-radius routine, so Zayn just let Liam lead him down the hall toward Louis and Harry’s room, firm grip on his arm. 

Liam knocked loudly on the door, and then waited the usual minute you waited after knocking on Louis and Harry’s door, and then knocked _again_ and said, “Open up you tossers, plenty of time for that later.” But it was Niall who came to the door. Zayn was glad to see he was still dressed. Liam pushed on into the room as if it didn’t matter much whether anyone had their kit off or not.

Louis was mostly dressed too, surprisingly enough; it was only Harry who was down to his boxers already, lying on the bed, not that one could expect any different of Harry in his own hotel room. The pillows were on the floor, of course, and debris from the evening here, there and everywhere: somehow in the ten minutes they’d been back in the hotel room the boys had managed to turn the place into an utter tip, which was a kind of magic Zayn still didn’t understand. It wasn’t as if it was so much more difficult to throw your trousers over a chair than it was to throw them on a floor, or even in a laundry hamper. 

“Hello Liam, hello Zayn’s disapproving face, how many pizzas do you think,” said Niall. 

“I thought we were going to be _resting_ ,” said Louis meaningfully, and flopped backward with his head on Harry’s stomach. 

Liam shook his head. “We have something important to do first.”

“Oh Liam,” Harry said, his fingers in Louis’ hair. “You aren’t going to start making us rehearse in the middle of the night, are you? Because then we’re going to have to start thinking about therapy.” 

“Let’s start therapy _now_ ,” said Louis happily. “How often do you dream about Simon Cowell, Liam? How does his chest hair make you feel?” 

Zayn felt what were probably the beginnings of a headache and sat down in the armchair by the window. 

“This is not about me, lads,” said Liam. “Or about Simon Cowell, and don’t be disgusting, Louis. This is about Zayn.” 

Zayn shook himself alert again. 

“You mean the tattoos he’s planning,” said Niall. “We’ve already tried staging an intervention, it didn’t work, remember?” 

“Oi!” said Zayn. “Just because you’re not artistic.” 

So of course Niall had to fall off the bed laughing, until Liam shushed him with his shush of total authority and said, “Not tattoos. Kissing.” 

“Oh my God,” said Zayn. “You _were_ drinking.” Liam was going to tell everyone about his stupid problem that probably wasn’t even really a problem and this was going to be the most embarrassing night of his life. Was it too late to tackle Liam, wrestle him to the floor, and duct tape his mouth shut? Maybe not, but then he’d have to tie back his arms too, so he couldn’t write out anything revealing, plus he’d have to find duct tape, not to mention Liam was so ridiculously competent he’d probably end up being able to spell out ZAYN IS A USELESS KISSER in sign language with his toes or something. He was doomed. “Fine, then!” said Zayn. “Okay, I admit it, I’m no good at kissing, ha ha, you’ve had your fun, now can we all go to sleep?”

There was a silence. Not even silence in the everyone-being-quiet-except-for-Louis sense of the word, but an actual silence. Everyone was looking at Zayn. Liam was scratching his head. 

“Zayn,” Liam said, finally. “Zayn, I wasn’t going to say that at all.”

“Oh,” said Zayn. “You weren’t?” He put his hands in his pockets and wondered whether it was possible to have a stroke from pure humiliation. 

“No,” said Liam. “I was going to say how unfair it was that we cockblocked you tonight and have everyone kiss you to make up for it.”

“What,” said Zayn.

“You guys are weird,” said Niall.

Harry frowned. “Why is that weird? That’s a _great_ idea.” 

“Slut,” said Louis fondly, reaching back to grab Harry’s hand. 

Zayn was still looking at Liam in disbelief. “What,” he said again.

“OK, look,” said Liam, sounding a little defensive. “I thought we’d all kiss you and you’d get a ton of practice and stop being so insecure.”

“Liam is the smartest person in this room,” Harry announced. 

Niall looked annoyed. "Because he wants to kiss Zayn? Big deal. Everyone wants to kiss Zayn.” 

Louis sat up on the bed. “Because he’s the one who came up with a completely bullshit plan to actually make it happen. While other people I know are hanging around uselessly ordering pizza or showing off their excess nipples, Liam is bringing a dream to life.”

“Ha!” said Harry. “I knew that sex dream you had was actually about Zayn.” 

“It was about you, Haz,” said Louis, but without much conviction. 

Zayn started getting to his feeet, trying to remember how much he had had to drink, because it didn’t seem possible that people were saying the things they seemed to be saying. Liam reached out an arm to steady him. “Easy there.” Zayn pulled away from him and Liam looked stricken. “You’re not mad, are you? I…meant well?”

Zayn thought about it. “It’s fine, Liam.” He was about to say how late it was, and how they had a show tomorrow, so really it was time to call it a night, but then Louis started rapping on the bedside table.

“Kiss and make up! Liam and Zayn, I demand you kiss and make up!”

“Why does Liam always get to go first?” Niall asked.

“Because you’re Irish,” said Louis. 

“Liam is like the nuclear force at the center of all things,” mused Harry dreamily. 

Right, enough. Zayn said, “Why don’t you all kiss Liam then? I’m going to bed.” 

But Liam shot him a look of utter betrayal, and Harry said, “Do you really think you’re a bad kisser, Zayn?”

Zayn shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I get self-conscious. And I don’t, I mean, I haven’t kissed that many people anyway, you know that.” 

“I don’t know that,” said Harry. “Okay. I bet you’re fine, though. I bet you’re more than fine.”

“Maybe,” said Zayn dubiously. He was tired of brooding over it and tired of having everyone fuss over him. 

“I think a demonstration. A demonstration of proper kissing is in order,” and Louis dove back onto Harry and started to kiss him thoroughly. It wasn’t much different from what Zayn had seen them do a million times before, but there was something about it that made the back of his neck feel prickly. Louis was angling out a little so that Zayn could see everything, the wetness of his lips, a glimpse of Harry’s tongue. He was almost disappointed when Niall reached out a hand and grabbed a fistful of Louis’ shirt at his neck, pulled him back. 

“I know it’s hard for exhibitionists to watch for a change but we’re supposed to be kissing Zayn, not Harry,” said Niall, cross-legged on the bed.

“I’m always supposed to be kissing Harry,” Louis disagreed. “And you’re one to talk, you were kissing Harry yourself right before Liam and Zayn showed up.” 

“Just a little,” said Niall. “But now I’m kissing Zayn.”

“You are?” said Zayn. An hour ago it would have seemed ridiculous, but in the face of Niall’s certainty it seemed oddly plausible. 

“Yes,” said Niall. 

“But Liam was going to go first…” began Louis. 

“That’s okay,” said Liam quickly. He sat down in the armchair Zayn had vacated, looking a little flushed. He swallowed, and suddenly became the getting-everyone-together-after-a-footie-break Liam, the let’s-be-professional-for-once Liam. He pushed at Zayn’s leg. “Zayn, go sit down on the bed. Niall’s gonna kiss you.” 

Zayn bit his lip and then made his features go blank. He could do this. He could do anything, really. He sat on the edge of the bed. It was just kissing Niall. It wasn’t like someone was making him dance.

“Relax,” said Niall. He scooted himself next to Zayn on the bed, their knees touching.

“I’m relaxed already,” said Zayn, a little annoyed. 

Niall put his hand on Zayn’s thigh. “Pretend I’ve just been eating chocolate mints,” he said, and Zayn laughed, because it was so stupid and Niall-y, and Niall grinned at him and kissed him. Niall’s lips pressed gently on his, dry. Then Niall opened his mouth just a little, his hand on Zayn’s cheek. It felt…kind of nice, really, so Zayn closed his eyes and took a breath against Niall’s mouth. Niall was right there with him, just for a moment, and then he let Zayn go.

“Eyelashes,” commented Louis, inexplicably.

Zayn looked up. “I _know_ ,” Harry was saying. “That was so pretty, Niall, kiss him again.” 

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Niall.

“Nuh-uh,” said Louis, clambering up onto his knees and tackling Niall from behind. “Shut up with your blond fetish, Harry, it’s my turn.” 

“You’re not in charge,” Harry pointed out. “Liam’s in charge.” 

“Shouldn’t I be the one in charge?” asked Zayn.

“Do you want to be?” asked Liam reasonably. He sounded completely sure of himself except for the way his voice cracked just a little when he said the word “want.”  

Zayn thought about it. Nothing about this evening made sense. Not long earlier he’d been this close to pulling a hot girl in a club and now he was snogging Niall Horan in Louis and Harry’s hotel room. “Not really,” he admitted. Letting Liam call the shots had been working pretty well so far.

“Then it’s Louis’ turn,” said Liam. Niall shrugged and got up, plunking himself down in Liam’s lap instead. 

“Too right it is,” muttered Louis. He looked Zayn up and down. “Get a bit further onto the bed, love, I don’t bite.”

“Lies,” said Harry.

Zayn looked at Harry’s grip on Louis’ ankle. “Are you sure this is okay—I mean—”

Harry pushed his hair out of his face. “Zayn.  Louis adores me—”

“—cocky bastard— ” said Louis, but didn’t disagree.

“—but you’re beautiful and you’re Zayn and he’ll still adore me when he’s done sticking his tongue down your throat.”

“That was ever so gracious, Haz,” said Louis, simultaneously patting Harry’s head and pulling Zayn closer until they were both on their knees, facing each other. Harry curled on his side to watch. 

Zayn felt—not nervous exactly, but—was Louis really going to stick his tongue down his throat? Was he going to ham it up and make it all a big laugh for Harry’s benefit? Kissing Niall had been nice, much less weird than it ought to have been, but this felt a bit more—something. He was further onto the bed now, and you never really knew what to expect from Louis, did you? He looked over to Liam, who was still in the chair, Niall slumped back against him, whispering in his ear. Liam nodded encouragingly when he saw Zayn looking questions at him, but when he spoke, it was to Louis.

“Louis,” Liam said. “You need to calm Zayn down.” 

“Louis Tomlinson, master of zen,” said Niall immediately, but Louis didn’t laugh. 

“Zayn,” Louis said. “You know I want to, right?” Zayn hoped he was projecting all kinds of as-if-I-care, but it was possible that Louis knew him better than that. Louis bent his head forward and Zayn braced himself, but Louis’ lips went past his, and Zayn heard his voice in his ear instead. “I want to,” said Louis, “let me?” He put a hand on Zayn’s chest, and Zayn quivered with the pressure and warmth of his fingers and realized that he wanted it too. When Louis started kissing him, he was swift and sure. Zayn hadn’t decided to open his mouth, but somehow it was open anyway, Louis licking past his lips, and Zayn hadn’t decided to give Louis his tongue, but Louis was sucking it anyway, and Zayn had figured on a short kiss, like with Niall, but Louis wasn’t even coming up for air. Most of all Zayn hadn’t planned on showing just how much he liked it, but despite himself he groaned and his hips pushed forward into Louis and then Louis was gasping and sinking back onto his heels, away from him. 

“I’m sorry!” Zayn said, aghast at himself. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.” 

Louis turned to Harry on the bed. “What did he say, Hazza? What the fuck did he just say.” He flopped backwards, boneless.

Harry looked, round-eyed, from Louis to Zayn and back again, and then reached out his hand and began undoing Louis’ shirt buttons. Zayn knew he’d gone way too far, fuck, he’d messed it up again.

“He says,” Harry explained to Louis, voice deep and slow, “he says he’s sorry.” He had all Louis’ buttons undone now and was crouched over him, beginning to kiss his way down from his collarbone.   
  
“He’s sorry,” Louis repeated. “What’s he sorry for, do you think?”  

God, Zayn thought, did they have to torture him like this? It was difficult, that’s all. Louis was just so—he’d never expected—anyway he didn’t mean to. “I didn’t mean to,” he repeated out loud.

“Apparently,” said Harry, licking Louis’ nipple, “he didn’t mean to be incredibly fucking hot and give you a massive hard-on.” 

“Inconsiderate,” agreed Louis, and Zayn tried not to look, but Louis’s hand was, well, Louis was touching himself. Stroking. 

That was when Zayn turned to Liam and Niall, thoroughly confused. Niall had sunk down to the floor at Liam’s feet and Liam was hunched over a little, fidgeting. When he spoke, though, his voice was steady.

“You’d better move on to Harry now, Zayn, I think he needs it.”

“God, yes,” agreed Harry, and then stopped. “Not that it’s about me. Or Louis! We’re just, you know. It’s kissing practice. For Zayn.” 

“For Zayn,” came Louis’ voice, a bit muffled against Harry’s side.

Zayn swallowed. He’d been hard since—well, since Louis had whispered to him, touched him, said he wanted him. He was supposed to be paying attention, taking mental notes on kissing, but he was mucking it up, so turned on that he was, let’s face it, probably learning nothing. 

“Earth to Zayn!” called Niall.  “Harry’s waiting.” 

“If you’re okay with it,” Harry said quickly.

“He’s okay with it,” said Liam. He breathed out slowly and leaned back in his chair. Niall patted his leg, obviously amused about something.

Zayn looked from Liam to Harry. “If you’re sure—“

“Get your fucking mouth on my boyfriend, Malik,” said Louis. 

“Shut up, Louis,” said Harry. “So why don’t you lie down right over here, Zayn, okay?”

Someone made a sound. Zayn didn’t think it was him. At least, he hoped it wasn’t him. “But,” Zayn tried again. He wasn’t sure about lying down. 

“Zayn,” said Liam. “This is about practice, right? Practice in all kinds of situations.” He had that reassuring voice he used when Harry was freaking out about his solos. So it was probably okay to lie down, because Liam was always right when he was using that voice: Harry usually ended up singing well and even when he didn’t, everyone loved him anyway, because he was Harry. Speaking of Harry, he looked really hot right now, propping himself up on his side, waiting for Zayn, hard-on pushing out the front of his boxers. That was probably from kissing Louis, Zayn thought. 

Harry raised his eyebrows and pointed to the place beside him. Zayn bit his lip and obeyed. Stretched out on his back, he was feeling less nervous now—there was Louis, not mocking at all, on one side of him, and on the other side Harry, one hand lightly on Zayn’s stomach, grinning his ridiculous grin. Liam wasn’t far away—Liam was still in charge, after all—and Niall, who’d said everyone wanted to kiss him. Harry would kiss him, and Zayn would be ready for it this time, not surprised and off-guard like with Louis, and, and fuck. He’d tilted his lips up to Harry’s but Harry’s mouth was on his neck instead. He slung a leg over Zayn’s and licked his throat. 

“Rules!” chirped Niall. “Can he do that, Liam? Only they’re meant to be kissing.” 

With Harry holding him down, Zayn couldn’t lift his head high enough to see Liam, but he heard his voice, a bit ragged: “Yeah, he can do that.” 

“Oh,” said Niall, sounding a bit put out. “I want another turn later, then.”  

Zayn wanted to hear Liam’s answer, but then got distracted when Harry lifted his head from his neck and looked at Zayn for a long moment. Zayn’s mouth fell open and Harry kissed him firmly once before shifting his weight onto him completely, the length of his near-naked body pressing against Zayn’s. Zayn felt Harry’s erection hard against his abdomen and groaned, no longer trying to hold back. 

“His shirt, Harry,” said Louis, low. “I want to see.” 

“Oh god,” said Harry. “Zayn, can we?” He was rocking his hips against Zayn absently, staring at him, one hand on the bed, the other—on Louis? Zayn writhed, didn’t trust himself to speak, just started scrabbling at his shirt. 

“Ssh,” said Harry, and raised himself up, straddling Zayn’s hips. “Let Louis.” Louis let out a breath next to him and tugged at Zayn’s shirt. Zayn wriggled obligingly, propping himself up. It was stupidly hard to get it off, maybe because Harry was still thrusting against him in slow heaves and Louis was touching him all over as he pushed up the shirt, his hands on Zayn’s stomach, his back, fingers brushing at his nipples. 

“Look at Liam,” Louis whispered. “Zayn, look.” Zayn didn’t feel capable of much independent movement but his eyes went to Liam, Liam’s shocked face, his broad shoulders, his hand at the zipper of his jeans. Liam was rubbing himself, slowly, intently, and his mouth was shaping the word “Zayn.”

“Liam,” said Zayn helplessly. Their eyes locked and Zayn saw himself as Liam must see him: on his back, half naked, writhing in their hands. For a second Louis and Harry weren’t there at all, but then Harry’s hands were slipping into his waistband, and Zayn’s attention snapped back. 

Zayn managed, “oh _god_ Harry,” before he stopped making words. His shirt was over his head, and for a moment he couldn’t see. Groping, he felt someone grab his hand—Harry? Louis?—then someone’s tongue against his palm. The shirt ripped and was off and Louis had two of Zayn’s fingers in his mouth, sucking. Harry lowered himself down again, his bare chest to Zayn’s, and kissed him, deeply this time, moving against him. 

“Fuck,” Harry gasped out, "I can’t—Zayn—Louis—please —" and Zayn wasn’t sure what that meant, but Louis did, because he was yanking Harry sideways and climbing on top of him, and Zayn could have cried from the sudden absence, the empty space where Harry’s body had been, except that Liam was saying, “Zayn. Zayn, now,” and Niall was getting up and saying something cheerful about how for once Liam had to wait for last. Zayn cast a last look over at Harry and Louis, Louis’s head bobbing at Harry’s groin, and then stumbled off the bed and to Liam, Liam, who was waiting for him with his thighs spread wide. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to sink to his knees between them, the bare skin of his sides against the roughness of Liam’s jeans. 

Zayn closed his eyes, put his one hand on each of Liam’s knees, stroked up his thighs, felt Liam shake under his hands. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to do this, he wasn’t sure what the rules were anymore. But he knew what he wanted, he wanted to do what Louis was doing to Harry, he wanted to do that for Liam, who’d given him all this. Zayn licked his lips, heard a noise like a sob from Liam above him. Zayn was just bowing his head when he felt Liam’s hands on his face. 

“No,” Liam said gently, and all the shame came rushing back—Liam didn’t want him to do it, Liam didn’t want him.

Zayn looked up at him, unable to hide his hurt. “No,” said Liam again, and smiled. “Kissing practice, remember?” He pulled Zayn up, into his lap, Zayn’s knees dropping open as if Zayn’s body knew all the things Zayn didn’t, straddling Liam’s hips like Harry had straddled his. Liam sucked in a breath as Zayn fit himself into his lap. He touched Zayn’s hair, his face, traced a finger across his mouth, swiped it just inside. From somewhere far away Zayn heard a cry from Harry, a soft noise from Louis.

“You okay?”  Liam asked.

“No,” said Zayn. “No, I’m not okay,” and he thrust himself against Liam, hard. “Like I’ll ever be okay again, fuck you, Liam, fuck you.” He tugged at Liam’s shirt, buttons pulling open, and then Liam was laughing at him, hands in his hair, pulling his face down to his lips, and Liam was kissing him.

“Do you know,” Liam was saying between kisses, breathless, “you’re the very wrongest person in the world?”

Zayn shook his head, but he didn’t want to argue, he just wanted Liam’s mouth, back on his, Liam’s skin, bare against his. “Need you,” he mumbled, as Liam unzipped Zayn’s trousers, slid his hands under his briefs, cupped his arse. 

“What you need,” began Liam, and stopped. “What you need. Look, Zayn, I’m going to tell you what to do, all right?”

Zayn tried to think this through but it made no sense, not as much sense as Liam’s mouth on his neck, his hips pushing up against Zayn in a quickening rhythm. “Why’re you asking me,” he managed eventually. “Liam. Liam, please.”

“Oh god,” said Liam, and he clutched at Zayn, brought him close, and if Zayn had been hard before with Louis and Harry it was nothing to what he felt now, in Liam’s arms, rocking against him, Liam reaching into his trousers for his cock and whispering, “Come _now_ , Zayn, do it, do it for me.” Zayn closed his eyes, his lips on Liam’s, and did what Liam said. 

“Zayn,” said Liam, his hand all messy. “Zayn. Oh, Zayn, I’ll kiss you, I’ll kiss you all the time,” and jerked against him, and was still. 

For a moment they just breathed. Zayn wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to get up from the chair, not as long as Liam was there. Everything was probably maybe okay, he told himself, and wondered if everything might even keep being okay the next day. 

There was a loud yawn from the general area of the bed. “I told you Liam was smartest,” said Harry drowsily.

“Okay, next time I’m going last,” said Niall. 

“You just shut up,” said Louis, “and maybe you’ll get a handjob in the morning.” 

Liam snorted. “As if either of you will even be awake in the morning.” 

“Oh, listen to our fearless leader who just came in his pants,” said Niall, and Louis laughed, and Harry tackled Niall, and Zayn hugged Liam’s head against his chest and was sure now that everything was and would be okay, in the sense of incredibly amazing.   

 

*

 

It was a week or so later, and they were backstage at a radio station, being asked the same silly questions, because it seemed that world-shaking events could happen, like Zayn finding out that Liam Payne liked kissing him and telling him what to do, and the world just kept on turning as if nothing had happened at all. So they explained what their least favorite food was, and where they wanted to go on holiday, and then the presenter grinned and said all her listeners wanted to know which of the boys was the best kisser. 

She was a bit taken aback when all of them but Zayn yelled out the same name. Zayn just coughed and tried not to look at Liam. The presenter patted Zayn on the knee. “You must be something special, love, what’s your secret?” 

Zayn tried to make his face go blank. He was getting better at gazing thoughtfully into the distance without looking as if he were about to fall asleep. 

“Don’t feel bad,” said Louis consolingly to the presenter. He swung his legs up and into Zayn’s lap. “He won’t tell us either.” 

“He likes to be mysterious,” said Liam, “but I think it’s just that he’s had a lot of practice.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [LiveJournal](http://threeturn.livejournal.com/2385.html) for [disarm_d](http://archiveofourown.org/users/disarm_d), who wanted to read about Zayn making out with all of them.


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